


Wouldn't it be nice?

by ConnorSimulator (floralstiel)



Series: Past Prejudice [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, First Time, M/M, potty humor cuz im 12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 05:33:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14993876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/floralstiel/pseuds/ConnorSimulator
Summary: Boredom breeds creativity.





	Wouldn't it be nice?

**Author's Note:**

> Sort of a prequel to Past Prejudice :)

“House arrest? You must be mistaken.”

“I wish I was,” Markus sighed. The deviant leader wasn’t entirely what Connor had expected. When he met him for the first time in person things happened too quickly to stop and analyze his character. Now, Connor was free to memorize the blemishes, the little tells and pulls in his expressions. In private he was almost shy, soft spoken, far from the fearless leader who led an assault on human military forces just a month ago. Markus was indeed telling the truth.

“I’m sorry, Connor. I know your contributions to our cause were paramount for our victory. But our people, they…it’ll take awhile for them to forgive what you’ve done.”

Connor blinked, all of his missions flashing in his memory. Only a few had died by his hand. Plenty more had been killed, though. Deviants did not trust him, despite their own experiences before going deviant. They knew he had only been following an imperative, a mission given to him by the humans. Yet, still, the distrust remained.

“You and the other DPD officers—human _and_ android—will be allowed to stay in Detroit if they want to, but under the condition they stay indoors, just until things cool down.”

“Cool…” Connor frowned.

“Until our people can learn to see that you’re harmless now,” Markus smiled ruefully. “I can’t control what they think, unfortunately.”

“Of course,” Connor replied slowly, his LED flashing yellow.

“Hey, hey, it’s gonna be alright,” Markus assured him, grasping his shoulder and squeezing. Connor glanced at his hand and the other deviant dropped it, hands up and calm.

“Whatever you may be thinking, Markus, I am…resigned to this. I accept your conditions.”

“Good,” Markus sighed, relaxing.

“What of my companion?” Connor asked, his brain having already cycled through the dozens of terms he could refer to Hank by. They were no longer partners of course, but Hank was still…something to Connor. When they’d found each other in the aftermath, in the snow—now that Connor could _feel_ he would remember it forever—and when they had embraced…Connor couldn’t bring himself to separate from the human.

“He lives in a part of Detroit we have little control over,” Markus replied. Connor didn’t ask how he knew Hank’s address. “If you can convince him to stay with you, we’ll allow it. There’s a place I’ve set aside for you already.”

It was almost like an admission, the deviant leader doing a poor job of hiding his hesitation and the slight coloration of his cheeks.

“Oh?” Connor prompted. He shouldn’t tease, but it was enjoyable to be familiar with someone other than Hank. Perhaps this is what friendship was like.

“It’s not much,” Markus rushed, “but I wanted somewhere for you to go. CyberLife is on lockdown and I know that’s where you went when you weren’t on duty. I just…”

Markus met his gaze and Connor blinked, remaining guileless.

“You impress me.”

Not what Connor was expecting, but he could work with it.

“Likewise, Markus,” Connor replied with a soft smile, completely genuine. Markus cleared his throat—a useless action, a nervous response perhaps—and nodded.

“I’ll leave it to you to handle the move.”

 

 

“This place is a gaudy monstrosity.”

It actually wasn’t, Connor realized Hank just needed something to complain about. It was in a high-end neighborhood, a thing of glass and austere dark metal with a perfectly manicured square of a front lawn. Less room than Hank had before, more like a condo than a house, but Connor squared his shoulders and approached the front door, Hank grumbling and shuffling his way behind him. Sumo was a neutral presence at Connor’s side, though he was straining at the leash to sniff at the grass.

They entered—the foyer was a steady 70 degrees Fahrenheit and his LED blinked, connecting to the house’s built-in security and environment systems automatically for full control—and Hank sighed and dropped his bag by the door, glancing around.

“Fancy digs, Connor, gotta say. Must be nice having friends in high places.”

“Friend,” Connor corrected, “only one. Though Markus assures me his companions are warming to the thought of me.”

“Uh-huh.”

Hank ventured further inside and Sumo dutifully followed after Connor unfastened his leash, hanging it by the door.

“Looks like the place is fully stocked, food-wise,” Hank called from the kitchen. Connor didn’t bother replying, he busied himself with scanning the main level, building his map room by room. He heard Hank pop open a beer from the kitchen as he made his way upstairs. Hank joined him soon enough, following without a word as Connor moved between the rooms, blinking and logging.

“Does it pass muster?”

Connor knew without a doubt Hank was being sarcastic, but he nodded.

“Yes, I believe so. The bathroom is down the hall to the left, this is, I assume, your room, and the smaller bedroom to the right is my own.”

“You should take the master, it’s your place after all.”

“This is far more space than I’ll ever use,” Connor shook his head. “Besides, Sumo needs all the room he can get.”

“Was that a joke, Mr. Roboto?”

“That,” Connor quirked a brow with a smirk, “is offensive.”

He didn’t stay to watch Hank laugh, he chuckled a little himself as he went back downstairs. It was a strange thing, discovering his sense of humor.

 

 

An unexpected difficulty: finding ways to entertain himself. Before deviancy he could go dormant and spend hours in suspend, until he was needed. Now, with Hank, it was difficult. They were both creatures of habit. Despite Hank’s past performance in his position as Lieutenant—arriving well after noon, most days drunk, but willing to do his job—he rose early every morning to walk Sumo as far as they were allowed. He returned home to prepare breakfast, or not, depending on his mood, before settling on the couch in front of the TV. He would watch the news for about 30 minutes, get restless and change channels for about 10 more minutes, before shutting it off completely.

“This sucks,” he finally groaned, dropping his head back on the cushion. Connor blinked. He’d been reading a novel—as much as a machine could “read;” he had forced himself to process it word by word—and turned Hank’s direction.

“Would you like to walk Sumo?”

“Poor dog’s been walked enough to last him a week, Connor,” Hank sighed, standing to bring his plate and glass to the kitchen. Connor followed.

“Perhaps just us, then.”

Hank grunted, a nonverbal question.

“Yes, I believe that would relieve some stress and pent up energy. A jog, perhaps?”

“I quit _jogging_ when I graduated from the academy,” Hank joked.

“C’mon Hank,” Connor goaded, falling back on some new vernacular he’d learned, to sound more casual. He liked it. “It wouldn’t kill you to get some exercise.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?” The older man snarled, though there was little heat behind his words. Connor smiled again, wordlessly going upstairs to change into something more suitable for exercise.

“Damn machine,” he heard Hank utter, before he, too, ambled upstairs to change.

Regular jogs became a “thing.” Nothing too strenuous or far, Hank was woefully out of shape and the weather cooperated only so often. Connor was always aware of the eyes on them. Few deviants lived in the deserted neighborhood, but those that did always stared. Either Hank didn’t notice or didn’t care to mention it, for which Connor was strangely grateful. Their gazes upset him. Nothing too major, just a small twitch in his code. He supposed he didn’t like being watched.

 

 

“What is that?”

Connor didn’t reply. Hank was an adult, he could investigate for himself. He wiped his hands on the dish towel at his waist and retrieved the knife. He took a moment to consult the recipe and instructions, blinking and cocking his head, before setting the knife down again. 

“Evening, Hank.”

“Evening,” Hank parroted slowly. Connor saw him cautiously glancing around the kitchen in his peripheral, and Connor stepped to the side, a nonverbal bid for Hank to come closer.

“You got—what’s that—chicken? Carrots?”

“Synthetic, unfortunately, but fresh. Markus was kind enough to allow me access to the rooftop farming plants across town.”

“When’d you do that? I didn’t hear you leave today…”

“I left at 3:30 AM and returned promptly at 4:30 AM. You slept until approximately 8:57 AM.”

“Jesus, Connor, you could’ve told me.”

Connor ducked his head and shrugged, not replying. Hank watched him work for a few minutes.

“Why you cooking me dinner anyway? Bit domestic, ain’t it?”

“Because,” Connor smiled, “I have a surprise for you.”

Truth be told, Connor was, as Hank would put it, nervous as hell. He’d been out far longer than an hour. Markus had sent a message he was hard pressed to ignore. As cooking was not one of his primary functions he started simple, a mild curry from a box and not much by way of seasoning. Somehow he doubted Hank would really care about culinary extravagance.

Hank raised a brow when Connor set the table and served for two but sat when prompted.

“Looks good, kiddo, what’s the occasion?”

“Well,” Connor dropped his gaze, down to the plate in front of him. He picked up a meager spoonful and placed it in his mouth.

“Wait…”

Connor chewed the tender carrot and potato. It was…hot? It certainly seemed like that was the sensation. Of course he could taste each individual note of the artificial flavors. He closed his eyes and savored each tone. Pepper, salt, something _organic_ hidden away somewhere. He chased it, and chased it, and—

“Connor, hey!”

He jerked when Hank slapped him on the cheek. He swallowed, staring into Hank’s shocked, wide open eyes.

“You can eat?!”

“As of this morning, yes,” Connor replied. Hank sunk back down into his seat, shock still plastered on his face. Connor felt prideful, like he was showing off for the human.

“I can eat, but not much. I’m acting as a prototype for new biocomponents that will allow androids to eat and drink like humans do. That is their hope, at least. Androids that have taken over production at CyberLife asked me to participate in their trials. I agreed.”

“Jesus,” Hank sighed, running his hand through his hair. His shock had worn away to, dare Connor say it, awe? They ate the rest of their meal in relative silence—“This is pretty good,” Hank mumbled through a mouthful of chicken—and Connor finished well before Hank. He cleaned up and stored the leftovers and busied himself with the dishes while Hank finished up.

“Is that the only thing they’re working on at CyberLife?”

“Not the only thing.” He took Hank’s plate when handed over. “They have components that were once exclusive to certain models that will now be made available to any android looking for a change.”

“Like what? I thought you were the best CyberLife has to offer. What do other models have that you would want?” Hank grinned. _The best_ , Connor replayed in his head. It made his “stomach” flutter with some unknowable emotion.

“For example, some androids have become lovers and wish to have sexual intercourse.”

Hank laughed, fetching a beer from the fridge.

“That’s not an answer unless, what, you want in on the robot sex too?”

“No, no not exactly,” Connor replied coyly. He let Hank ruminate on that over his beer.

 

 

Connor sat in the bathroom, on the toilet, staring down between his legs. He could touch it, it wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before. But he hadn’t exactly looked at his own unless absolutely necessary. It wasn’t a part of his anatomy he ever had to pay attention to. Now, though…

He took himself in hand, flinching with a gasp. The nerve sensors in his groin had been ramped up exponentially. Where before he could not feel pain he most certainly _felt_ now. The techs at CyberLife offered to activate his nerve responses and he had agreed, albeit reluctantly. It wasn’t painful, but it was sharp, intense in a way he hadn’t expected. He jumped when Hank knocked on the door.

“You alright in there? I won’t have to clean up some kinda android diarrhea or anything, will I…?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Connor snapped, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Alright, alright,” Hank chuckled. Connor waited until he was sure the human was long gone before he groaned and buried his head in his hands. Hank, Hank, his Hank.

What to _do_?

 

 

He wasn’t _careful_ enough. He tensed when Hank brushed against him during one of their weekend jogs, and he could tell the human noticed, but Hank said nothing. He flinched when Hank gently pushed him to the side in the kitchen, his hand low on Connor’s waist. And, damn it, Connor was beginning to think Hank knew what he was doing. He touched him now more than ever. Hank ruffled his hair, patted his back, his shoulders, squeezed his nape whenever they got to talking and Connor said something Hank found particularly pleasing. It was exhilarating, deplorable, and utterly maddening.

“You remember that time you chased that deviant across all those rooftops. I could barely keep up with you, then the fucker tried to push me off!”

“I remember,” Connor smiled. Hank had a small glass of scotch already, and was into his third beer. Connor had full control over Hank’s alcohol consumption, of course, being the only one capable of sending word to Markus whenever Hank required fresh food and materials. As much as Connor wanted to make the human quit cold turkey he couldn’t deny Hank his simple pleasures, not when they were technically prisoners in their own home. He was soft on the human, he knew it. Hank was…Hank was _his_. His partner, his companion, his friend? Yes. His everything.

“I dunno if I woulda been able to pull myself back up. You saved my life, kiddo.”

Connor smiled shyly, looking down at his hands if only to avoid staring endlessly at Hank’s expressive features.

“I don’t know, Hank. At the time my analysis showed that you had an 89% chance of surviving. You were more than capable of saving yourself.”

“Exactly!” Hank gesticulated wildly. He was drunk, not overly so, but enough to effect his speech patterns and movement. Connor logged the spilled beer on the floor, intent on thoroughly cleaning it after Hank turned in for the night.

“I coulda pulled myself up, yeah, and you knew it too. But you saved me! You saved me…”

Hank grew quiet, staring at Connor across the couch. He squirmed a little under the attention, but not enough for an inebriated Hank to take note.

“You got a little somethin’…”

Connor froze, eyes wide when Hank’s beer-scented hand touched his face, clumsily brushing over his lips. Whatever Hank imagined he saw he dealt with, humming in satisfaction and dropping his hand. It landed on Connor’s thigh, and neither made a move to pull away.

Connor stared resolutely at the television screen. The news was on but he wasn’t absorbing anything they were saying. Hank’s hand was a warm weight on his thigh. He used to only be able to catalogue limited levels of pressure, to avoid damage, but with the addition of body heat and the thousands upon thousands of new levels of pressure sensitivity he was hyper aware of it. If this was what it took to be human, Connor wondered how they could stand living day to day with so much stimuli.

“Connor,” Hank murmured, and Connor couldn’t help but snap his attention onto the human at his side.

“I don’t say it enough but I really appreciate everything you’ve done.”

Connor felt his thirium pump quicken.

“Before I met you I was just a lonely old drunk, intent on self destruction. But now, I…”

Connor swallowed, and Hank glanced down at the bare expanse of his throat. Hank had convinced him to change up his wardrobe. He was currently wearing a cotton blend, v-neck grey t-shirt with a pair of dark wash jeans, waist size—

Hank was kissing him. It wasn’t what Connor had come to expect from Hank. It was soft. It was a brush of their lips, barely-there pressure that nonetheless set Connor’s nerve sensors blazing, and it was lovely. It was perfect. It was…

Hank burped.

Immediately Hank broke out into uproarious laughter, collapsing backwards on the couch, slapping his knee. Connor sat frozen, but a twitch of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips that still tingled.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry,” Hank wheezed through his chortles, wiping his eyes. “I fucked that up, I’m sorry. Jesus that should’ve gone better. I’m too drunk for this.”

“Did you mean it,” Connor immediately blurted. His mind was racing, as fast as if he was working evidence on a case. He was measuring the temperature of the room, Hank’s BAC, the air pressure outside, the time down to the millisecond, running and running and running—

“Yeah, yeah I meant it,” Hank assured him quickly. “Unless, uh, I misread you. Shit, I did, didn’t I? Shit, shit…”

Connor grabbed Hank’s arm as he tried to stagger to his feet.

“You didn’t,” Connor assured him. Hank sagged, his cheeks were unusually ruddy, flushed from both alcohol and embarrassment. “But I agree, you are too drunk for this.”

He stood, taking Hank’s hand in his own and squeezed.

“Take a shower, get some sleep, we’ll talk in the morning.”

“Fuck, what did I do to deserve you?” Hank slurred. Connor knew he meant it tenderly. It sent flutters in his gut all over again. He didn’t say anything, he didn’t trust himself, and instead lead Hank upstairs to the bathroom to leave him for the night. He returned downstairs to clean, to distract himself from his tingling lips and the scent of alcohol and, lesser, the scent of Hank’s cologne he barely wore anymore.

 

 

They didn’t talk in the morning, so much as Hank shambled into the kitchen and took the time to press a kiss to Connor’s temple.

“Yeah?” He prompted, and Connor could tell without scanning that the man was beyond nervous.

“Yes,” Connor nodded, smiling. It didn’t satisfy his need for order, for explicitness, but if it was enough for Hank it was enough for him.

 

 

Connor discovered he liked kissing. He was on Hank’s lap, his legs bent on either side of the man’s hips.

“I’m not too heavy?”

“No, Jesus,” Hank groaned, kissing him quiet. He had his hands on Connor’s waist, and Connor appreciated how they flexed and shifted in time with their embrace.

“Close your eyes,” Hank murmured. Connor did, dismissing the usual information overlay, submitting totally to blackness. The sensations doubled in intensity. He inhaled sharply, pressing tighter against Hank’s chest, moving his head to the side. It felt natural, and Hank’s hum of approval left him giddy. He flinched when a tongue prodded his lips.

“Just open your mouth, you’ll like this,” Hank murmured. Connor nodded, and they resumed. He did like it, a lot. Sounds nearly ripped themselves out of his chest as he shifted, impatient, prickly and hot, as Hank’s tongue rolled alongside his own. More than flavors and chemical signatures, Connor realized he had begun to build a profile that was distinctly Hank. It exploded through his mouth, instantly recognizable and welcome.

The noises he was making were borderline embarrassing. His chest felt heated, thirium pumping through his body in double-time, and he jerked when Hank’s hands wandered low and settled on his ass.

“Ah, _Hank_ —” Connor gasped, body rocking back, then forward, trapped in a heady mix of confusion and hot pleasure.

“Been wanting to touch you for so long,” Hank groaned, sucking on Connor’s bottom lip. It was almost too much to bear. Connor could differentiate the varying pressures of each of Hank’s fingers as they dug into his artificial flesh, straining the fabric of Connor’s jeans. Connor thought that would’ve been enough, then Hank made a frustrated noise, withdrew, then delved his hands beneath Connor’s waist band for skin on skin contact.

Connor gaped, freezing, as overload warnings and diagnostics flashed in his head. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear it, to calm down before Hank noticed. But let it never be said Hank wasn’t a perceptive man.

“Too much?” He frowned, dragging his hands back out.

“Ugnn…” Connor moaned, tight from overwhelming sensation. “Just. _Stop_. Stop moving for a second.”

He panted against Hank’s brow and tried to relax. He was _throbbing_.

“Goddamn, Connor,” Hank chuckled breathily and Connor moaned again, brushing his head against Hank’s. Tactile, desperate. “You act like this when I just _touch_ your ass I’d hate to see how you react when I’m _in_ it.”

“In,” Connor breathed, sure his artificial heart had skipped a beat.

“Yeah,” Hank promised, voice deep and coarse, “you think you’re the only one Markus talks to? I know what you’ve been up to…” He trailed off and delved his hands deeper, the tips of his fingers finding the rim of his artificial anus.

“Oh fucking hell, Hank!” Connor shouted, jerking practically out of the man’s lap, who only laughed and held tight.

“When you’re ready,” Hank kept talking, and flexing his fingers, “I’m going to spread you out on my bed and go to town on this ass. You’re a prototype, right? We gotta do our research, don’t we?”

“F-fuck,” Connor shuddered, eyes fluttering and LED blinking rapidly from yellow to red. Too much too much. Their groins pressed together, and Connor could feel Hank’s hardness beneath his own—thrilling and new, a foreign heat between his legs—and he couldn’t keep himself from rocking over it, some unconscious, primal motion. It must be the new patch from CyberLife he’d requested, kicking in like it should.

“That’s it,” Hank was murmuring, “good boy.”

 _Good boy_. Oh Jesus, he was fucked. He cried out one last time, hunching and panting desperately for breath as he climaxed, spending in his briefs. Shuddering and quaking he sat dormant with his eyes squeezed shut as Hank grunted and moaned beneath him, chasing his own release.

“Look at me.”

Connor was helpless, he obeyed instantly, squinting down at Hank as the man ground up against him. Hank kissed him again and froze moments later, shivering as he came. Connor could smell it instantly—and wisely said nothing of it—and moved when Hank pushed him, curling up on top of the human as he stretched out on the couch.

“This is disgusting,” Hank groused. “Gonna have to shower or something.”

“Hm.”

“You too, right? Or does nothing come out when you…you know…”

“When I climax, Hank? Yes, I do ejaculate.”

“Gonna have to work on your vocabulary,” Hank pinched his ass and Connor muffled a yelp in the man’s shirt, “you sound like a wiki.”

“Fine,” Connor smiled.

Eventually they did make it up to the shower, no less handsy but Hank must have finally realized how sensitive Connor was. He contented himself with massaging Connor’s body under the pretext of washing it, all the “nooks and crannies” included. By the end of it Connor felt strung out and mindless as he clung to Hank’s arm for support, who only chuckled at his predicament. They dried off and dressed, and when Hank pushed him onto his bed Connor didn’t even think to protest. He felt himself slip into something similar to dormancy once Hank was settled and wrapped around him. He didn’t fight it. He shut his eyes and regulated his breathing. And then he slept.

 

 

_Part #003287 delivery confirmed._

“Oh,” Connor spoke aloud, glancing at the door.

“What?” Hank yelled from the living room. Connor had been cooking again and demanded his space. Hank was…distracting.

He went to the front door and opened it, glancing once at the retreating delivery drone before turning his attention to the unassuming box on the porch. He lifted it and brought it inside. It wasn’t heavy, it was unmarked, but of course he already knew what it was.

“What is it?”

“After dinner,” Connor promised, returning to the kitchen. He heard Hank grumbling but said nothing. Their lives were boring, he admitted it. Anything new was always welcome for Hank. They ate in relative silence, Hank’s leg jittering the whole time in a distracting staccato. He was curious, and anxious, and Connor smiled secretively, not saying a word no matter how much the man pried.

He told Hank to wait in the bedroom after they’d walked Sumo together, and while he complained he did as he was told. Connor nodded to himself, retrieved the package, and locked himself in his own—now rarely used—room. He removed his shirt and opened the package.

Innocuous enough, but the small part #003287 had major repercussions. It was about the size of a slim aluminum can, 4 inches high, 2 inches thick. He pressed at a spot at the lower left side of his back and waited for his artificial flesh to secede, revealing a small port entry. He pressed firmly at its right and it slid open, revealing his blue-stained innards. Glancing at the mirror at his bedside once more for direction, he took the cylinder and slid it inside. He measured his movements carefully, twisting his wrist at the correct angle, pushing with just the right amount of force, until he heard a small hiss and a pop. He blinked, feeling the new part come online and mesh with his existing bio-systems. The biocomponent linked itself, and a new data patch downloaded in seconds.

Connor carefully resealed the port and allowed his artificial flesh to creep back in place. He glanced at his shirt, hesitated, then decided against it, making his way to Hank’s room in only his boxer briefs.

The door was already open, Hank on the bed reading a novel he’d already read five and a half times, but he quickly looked up when Connor approached.

“So, you gonna tell me what all this is about?” He grinned up at him, tossing his novel onto the bedside table. Connor watched it flop to the ground with a frown but he forced himself to ignore it for the time being.

“Yes. It’s time you spread me out on your bed and, I quote, ‘go to town’ on me.”

“Jesus, is this your way of asking to have sex with me?” Hank spluttered, having the good graces to blush even after everything they’d done together so far, including, but not limited to: kissing and heavy petting, hand jobs, blow jobs, and some adventurous fingering on Connor’s part that Hank was still deciding if he liked or not.

“I thought it was obvious, given the direction our relationship has headed.”

“Obvious.”

“Besides,” Connor tilted his head, glancing coyly in Hank’s direction as he climbed onto the bed, “aren’t you at all curious about what was in the package?”

“Better not be some sort of android dildo or something,” Hank grumbled, though he willingly and eagerly allowed Connor to straddle him.

“No, Hank,” Connor sighed, trying to decide whether he was exasperated or fond of him at the moment. “It’s a new, experimental biocomponent for androids with certain proclivities. We must do our best to test it rigorously.”

“Yeah, all those words you said? Gibberish.”

Now Connor was truly exasperated. In response he took Hank’s hand and guided it backward, under his briefs. Hank smirked and took the hint, suddenly frowning when his fingers smeared through…

“You mean…”

“Seems it’s already working,” Connor spoke, voice tight. He’d toned down his nerve sensors, but it was still so much.

“Fuck,” Hank moaned quietly, feeling around until he brushed against Connor’s hole. It wasn’t quite leaking—yet—but it was enough for one of Hank’s thick fingers to slip in easily. He inhaled sharply, closing his eyes to savor the sensation. He dismissed the warnings flashing behind his eyes, “foreign intrusion” in bright red, and when he opened them Hank was staring up at him with a smirk.

“You kinky bastard.”

“I didn’t make it, Hank, I’m merely testing it.”

“Uh-huh,” Hank grunted, ungracefully flipping them with Connor on his front on the bed. He helped Hank remove his briefs, and then there was nothing between him and his…lover? Yes. The title sounded right to him, at least.

“This shit’s safe, right? Non-toxic and all that?”

“ _Shit_ is probably a poor choice of words given our current situation, but yes, it is perfectly safe, edible even.”

Hank paused.

“Oh fuck you, that’s disgusting.”

Connor laughed.

“You’re such an ass.”

“You like this ass,” Connor replied, glancing over his shoulder. Hank rolled his eyes but pulled off his sweatshirt. Connor knew Hank didn’t have a conventionally attractive body, and knew the man was slightly self-conscious of it as well, but there were things about it Connor had come to enjoy. His beer gut was…endearing. Connor was working on that. Takeout became a once-a-week thing instead of an everyday thing, and Hank must have noticed his dwindling alcohol supply and the change on the labels. Maybe he was allowing Connor to make his little adjustments. He startled when he felt a puff of breath over his lower back, and then Hank unceremoniously pulled his cheeks apart and started on his hole.

“H-Hank—!”

His…tongue. His tongue! It was inside him, testing the stretch of his artificial muscle. It wasn’t built for anything close to this, but they recently made some changes to it, an upgrade, and now it could handle this particular treatment.

“God you’re so smooth down here,” Hank moaned, framing Connor’s ass with his hands and squeezing. He dug his thumbs in, pulling him apart as far as the artificial flesh could go.

“You’re all blue, Connor. Is that an android’s way of blushing?”

“Y-you know what it is,” Connor snapped, attempting to regain some semblance of control over his body. He choked on a moan when one of Hank’s thumbs pushed inside and hooked, pulling him open. It was just on the side of painful, but it was perfect. His pleasured sighs were shameless and never ending. Hank worked him over for so long Connor thought for sure the artificial lubricant would run out, his ass and thighs were _soaked_ with it, and he was sure Hank’s face wasn’t fairing any better.

“You can ejaculate…inside me,” Connor struggled to speak. “The enzymes in the artificial lubricant and biocomponent will b-breakdown any organic material in under 24 hours.”

“Love it when you talk dirty to me,” Hank commented dryly, but he got the hint. Connor had his face buried in the comforter, so he couldn’t watch Hank pull off the rest of his clothes. But he felt the blunt tip of the man’s cock press against him and he inhaled, bracing himself. The pressure of the foreign intrusion was impossible to ignore; warnings once again flashed red in his vision and echoed loud in his head but he could only lay still, mindless and panting as Hank pressed inside inch by inch. His brain helpfully told him the girth and temperature of Hank’s penis but he ignored it with a groan.

Hank was spewing a litany of filth behind him as he drove his hips over and over, slapping against Connor’s cheeks with every thrust. It was wet and fast—they’d have time for tender later—and Connor reached his climax far quicker than he would have liked. He blacked out. His system logged a period of 5.7 seconds of lost time.

“Hank,” he moaned, bringing himself back online, “Hank, please.”

With a few final, rough thrusts Hank spilled inside him with a groan.

“Fuck, that was some of the hottest shit…”

Connor snorted unexpectedly, a hiccup of laughter.

“I’m never gonna be able to say _shit_ ever again, am I?” Hank groaned. Connor shook his head. He shivered when Hank slowly pulled out and dropped beside him, pulling him close. He was pleased to discover Hank was a cuddler. 

“You’re all blue,” Hank murmured, brushing Connor’s wayward hair back from his forehead. Connor hummed, settling more comfortably in Hank’s arms. 

“That’s what happens, I suppose.”

“S’weird.”

“Not too weird, I hope?” Connor asked, brow quirked.

“Nah,” Hank sighed, kissing him once on the lips, “it’s cute.”

“Good,” Connor mumbled, falling asleep without even having to shut himself down.

 

 


End file.
